


A Toast to Absent Parents

by haasak



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Friendship, Howard and Maria Stark, Hurt Tony, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 10:09:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9176068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haasak/pseuds/haasak
Summary: Steve grapples with telling Tony the truth about his parents on the anniversary of their death. Takes place between Captain America: The Winter Soldier and Avengers: Age of Ultron.





	

Peggy Carter was lying in bed, her head turned to the window, watching the snow fall softly outside. Her long, silver hair lay loose on her shoulders. It was the day after Christmas in London and there was a definite chill in the air. She shivered despite the heavy blankets draped over her. A soft knock at her door pulled her eyes from the window. 

“Come in,” she called softly. 

The door opened slowly, revealing a snow-soaked Steve Rogers. He wore a heavy black pea coat. A scarf was wrapped tightly around his neck. He pulled a soaking wet hat from his head as he stepped into the room.

“Merry Christmas, Peggy,” he said, smiling.

“Steve,” she said fondly. “Come in.” Steve closed the door behind him and walked over to her. He pulled off his snow-covered winter jacket and scarf, draping them over the old, sizzling radiator under the window. He took a worn wooden chair from the corner, and after giving Peggy a gentle hug and kiss on the cheek, sat by her bedside.

“You shouldn’t have come all this way,” Peggy chided, though the smile on her face showed how truly happy she was to see him. Steve took her hands in his. 

“It’s nothing, Peggy. I wasn’t going to miss seeing you at Christmastime.” Steve tried to get to London as often as he could, though it was becoming increasingly difficult. The Avengers were gone for days, sometimes weeks, at a time in search of Loki’s missing scepter. Meanwhile, Steve was working on his own to track down the elusive Winter Soldier. At least the cost was no longer a deterrent. A few months ago, Steve had made an off-the-cuff remark to Tony about the cost of overseas travel. Ever since then, Tony had insisted on covering the costs of Steve’s visits to Peggy. Sometimes the man could really surprise you, Steve thought. Peggy gave his hands a squeeze, pulling him from his thoughts.

“How are you Steve?” she asked. “Have you found a place in Brooklyn?” Steve gave a short laugh.

“I don’t think I can afford a place in Brooklyn,” he said. “I’ve been staying at the new Avengers Tower. I really can’t complain though. Life with Tony is never boring,” he added with a lopsided grin.

“How is he?” Peggy asked. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen him.”

“Tony?” Steve gave a dry laugh. “He’s loud, obnoxious . . . insufferable really.” He smiled to himself. “But a good man,” he added quietly. 

“Just like his father.” Peggy barely got the words out before she was overcome by a coughing fit. Steve handed her a glass of water from her bedside table. 

“Here,” he said gently. 

She took a few sips, returned the glass to his hands, and said, “I want to show you something.” She began to sit up, reaching towards the bedside table drawer.

“Let me,” Steve said. He opened the drawer and pulled out a small photo album. He handed it to Peggy.

“It was a gift from my daughter,” she said, taking it from him. She opened it, revealing pages of old, black-and-white photos. Steve inched his chair closer to the bed to get a better look. The first few pages were filled with photographs of a little girl and her family – Peggy’s family, Steve assumed. She flipped ahead a dozen pages or so – past school pictures and photos of Peggy in her wartime uniform. Finally, she pointed to a photo. 

“Howard and I,” she said. “After the war, during the early days of SHIELD.” Steve looked down at the photograph. He recognized Howard, of course. He sat in an old desk chair, turned to face the camera. Peggy sat on the metal desk in front of him, her legs crossed and hands folded over her knee. Both smiled brightly at the camera, as if they had just shared a joke. Steve smiled and looked back up at Peggy, who was smiling, too, as if lost in an old memory. 

She flipped through several more pages. She paused again, this time pulling a small photo right from the pages and handing it to Steve. Steve took it in his hands. Looking down at it, he recognized Peggy and Howard again, though they were older. Peggy stood, her arms wrapped around Howard to her right and a stunning, dark-haired woman to her left. The woman held a little boy, not more than two years old, on her hip. The boy smiled shyly, his head of messy dark hair resting on the woman’s shoulder.

“Howard and his wife Maria,” Peggy said. “And little Tony, of course.” Steve looked down at the photo again as she spoke. 

“She was beautiful wasn’t she?” Steve nodded as he looked again at the woman. Maria Stark. He had never seen a photo of her. Tony did not keep any around the tower. 

“She was so young when they met,” Peggy continued. “Only eighteen. But she was a strong girl. You would have liked her,” she said with a smile. “Patience of a saint, too. She needed it to put up with Howard.” Peggy chuckled. Steve looked back up at her with a small smile.

“It was twenty-three years ago tomorrow, you know,” said Peggy quietly, “that they were killed.” 

Steve’s eyes returned to the photo. After waking up in the twenty-first century, Steve had been sad to learn that Howard and his wife had died in a car crash nearly twenty years earlier. He had met Tony, of course. But Tony rarely spoke of his father, except to offer the occasional sarcastic barb. He never spoke of his mother. 

Earlier in the year, Steve had learned that the Starks' death had not, in fact, been an accident. They had been murdered by Hydra operatives. Arnim Zola’s voice still rang in his head.

When history did not cooperate, history was changed. 

Steve had planned to tell Tony the truth. He deserved to know, he thought. But every time he came close to telling him, he hesitated. It never seemed like quite the right moment. And what good would it do anyways? His parents were still dead. 

“Tony should have that,” Peggy said, pointing to the photo still in Steve’s hand. “Will you give it to him?” she asked. Steve could see that she was getting tired – it happened so easily these days. 

“Sure, Peggy,” he said, tucking the photo into his pocket. Then, Steve took the photo album from her hands and placed it back into the drawer beside her bed. “You should rest,” he said. He pulled the blankets up to cover her shoulders, as she smiled up at him. 

“You’re too good to me,” she said. Steve just smiled, settling back into his chair. A few moments passed.

“Was he a good father?” he asked quietly. 

“He wanted to be,” she said, before closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep.

 

A few hours later, Steve was on a plane headed back to New York. The flight was not too crowded so the seat beside him was empty. He slid the window shade up and glanced out, but all he could see were the thick, gray clouds below. He closed the shade again. Sighing, he pulled the small photo from his pocket. He looked again at Howard. He looked like Tony. Was a lot like him, too. But Tony had a wariness to him that Howard had never possessed. Then again, he had only known Howard as a young man. Maybe that wariness had come with age.

His eyes shifted to the dark-haired woman. Maria, he reminded himself. And the little boy in her arms. She had been murdered twenty-three years ago. 

Steve thought of his own parents. His father had died when he was a child. There had been an accident at the factory where he worked. He had only the vaguest memory of his father’s face. His mother’s face, however, he remembered clearly. She had died from pneumonia just before his eighteenth birthday. As he looked at the picture of young Tony and his parents, he wondered – If it had not been an accident that killed his father, if his mother had not died as the result of an illness, if they had been murdered instead, would he want to know? Would it change anything? 

He knew Tony. He was clever and brash. Seemingly indestructible. Yet his emotions got the best of him so easily. What would the truth do to him? Would he want revenge? Would it only bring him pain? 

Steve closed his eyes and did not wake until the wheels of the plane hit the runway at JFK.

 

It was dark when Steve stepped out of a cab in front of Avengers Tower, his small duffle bag slung over his shoulder. He used an ID card to enter through the building’s back entrance. Once in the elevator, he reached to press the button to his own floor, and then stopped. 

“Jarvis?” he called. “Where is Tony?”

“Mr. Stark is in the common area, on the thirty-fifth floor, sir,” came Jarvis’s computerized voice. Taking a deep breath, Steve thanked Jarvis and pushed the button for that floor. When the elevator doors slid open, he stepped out. Dropping his bag right there in the hallway, he crossed the room in search of Tony. It did not take long to find him. Tony was standing in front of the windowed wall directly across from him, his back to Steve, looking out at the brightly lit Manhattan skyline. 

“Cap,” said Tony, turning from the window to face him. Of course Jarvis had alerted Tony to his presence, Steve thought. He looked Tony over. He was dressed in worn sweatpants and an old white t-shirt. He held a half-finished drink in his hand. 

“You want a drink?” Tony asked, walking towards him. He pointed to a half empty bottle of liquor on a nearby table. 

“Sure, why not,” said Steve. He went to sit on the couch across from Tony. Steve pulled off his coat and threw it on the seat beside him. 

“Where’ve you been?” Tony asked, pouring a glass for Steve and handing it to him. 

“London. Visiting Peggy.”

“Ah. How is she?” Tony asked.

“Good. Some days are better than others. But she was sharp as ever today. She asks about you, you know.”

“Really?” said Tony. “I should give her a call . . . get over there sometime . . .” he said. Steve watched him, eyebrows raised. Tony seemed distracted. Oddly subdued. There was none of his normal sharpness, no wisecracks, and no sign of his usually smug smile. Instead, he looked tired. There were dark circles under his eyes, as if he had not slept in days. Though to be fair, Steve thought, he was not sure Tony ever slept. 

“You okay, Tony?”

“Hmm? Yeah, sure. Of course.”

“Where’s Pepper?”

“In D.C. for a few days.”

“You look tired.”

“Yeah, I’ve been down in the lab. Kind of lost track of time . . .” Steve nodded. He reached into his pocket.

“Peggy, uh, wanted me to give this to you,” he said, pulling out the old photograph and holding it out to Tony. Surprised, Tony put down his drink, reached across the table and took the photo from Steve. He glanced down at it. Steve watched him, but Tony’s expression was unreadable. Finally, Tony nodded, set the photo down and went back to his drink. There was silence for a bit. Then Steve bent over and picked up the photo again. Looking at it, he smiled.

“Did your Dad ever tell you about the time he flew Peggy and me over a battlefield in Italy? I had just found out that the 107th infantry – Bucky’s division – had been captured. They were being held at a Hydra weapons factory, thirty or forty miles behind enemy lines. No one would risk a rescue. Then Howard shows up in his private propeller plane. Hydra started firing at us, but he was able to get close enough to the factory so that I could parachute in. He risked his life. And because of him, we saved almost 400 men.” A few moments passed, and then Tony looked up.

“It’s funny,” Tony said. “I’ve heard that story probably a thousand times. Captain America, the hero . . . blah, blah, blah . . . saved hundreds of men. But somehow you make it sound like he was the hero. Should I chalk that up to your usual, vomit-inducing humility?” He glanced up at Steve, smirking. 

“No, Tony,” Steve returned with a patient smile. “He was a good man. Brave. Or maybe just crazy,” he added with a short laugh. They sat quietly for another minute or two.

“I can’t believe it’s been twenty-three years,” said Tony finally. Steve looked up at Tony. Tell him, his mind shouted. He should know the truth, it said. He opened his mouth.

“Tony,” he started. “There’s something I have to tell you.” Tony looked up from his drink. 

“Okay,” he said, raising his eyebrows. Steve glanced down at his hands. He opened his mouth, and then closed it. He looked back up at Tony. There was a sadness in Tony’s eyes tonight, a pain that normally was not there. Because he was usually too good at hiding it, Steve realized. 

Steve sighed. He could not do it. Not tonight.

“Just . . . thank you. For letting me stay at the Tower. I appreciate it,” he mumbled.

“Oh,” said Tony, surprised. “Yeah, of course. Stay as long as you need, Cap.” Tony picked up the bottle beside him and refilled his glass. Holding it out to Steve, Steve nodded and Tony refilled his glass, too. Setting the bottle back down, Tony picked up his glass and raised it. 

“To absent parents,” he said.

“Absent parents,” Steve repeated.


End file.
